


Beyond This Short Dawn Lies Nothing More To Us

by deerluxia



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, THIS IS post ddd so, foreboding af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 06:59:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4338479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerluxia/pseuds/deerluxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sora encounters an unexpected, highly unlikely visitor.<br/>Xehanort falters. Just once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond This Short Dawn Lies Nothing More To Us

“Keep yourself busy, okay? Good job on that last run, Kairi! Lea, don’t slack off, you’ve still got work to do.”  
Sora stared at the wide back of his friend. Riku’s hair was a wisp of silver, finally long enough again to tie loosely. It was already falling out of its confines, presumably after many hours of dodging and tackling and biting the dust. Two other figures walked ahead as Riku shouted information at them from afar, one a tall shot of crimson spikes and lean, almost comically lanky muscle, the other a curvy, yet well-built girl with a keyblade twined with scuffed flowers clutched in her hand.  
“He’s still doing a good job,” Sora protested to Riku’s last remark about Lea, the taller one in question, wiping the sweat from his brow, not waiting for the setting sun to leave him any damper and burnt, despite the thick tan forming on his skin. “We’ve seen him improve from last time. No more, uh, backfiring on the magic we’ve taught him.” He realized _backfire_ was a little too literal once it left his tongue.  
Riku rolled his eyes, reaching a hand behind him to run his fingers through Sora’s hair roughly, a friendly gesture. “Well, you can play good cop, I’m still gonna be bad cop. Serious training means serious critiques. You know that, too, Sora.” He smiled, a white flash of teeth behind the mop of silvery strands, a curved cheekbone.  
Sora couldn’t help but smile back, adrenaline in the pit of his stomach settling.  
For now, the world felt right. For now, heroes and masters would rest in their cavernous bunkers, releasing the tension from a long day of tiring work.  
After eating a hot meal in the mess hall with the others, he stripped his body lightly, peeling off canvas padding and tougher armor along with it, stepping across the cool bare floor, eyes fluttering down in thought and drowsiness. He showered halfway through a dream, sketching stars in the perspiration across the bathroom tiles.  
There was a short mumble of greetings and goodnights to Lea in a bathrobe as they crossed paths in the hall. He opened his door quietly, and shut it with the same care as not to turn the lock too loud. And sprawled out in bed, savouring the weight of the silence and the cool air battering his face, huffing a sigh, smiling triumphantly to nothing in particular.  
Nothing, that is, except for the sudden flurry of activity near the tall window at the far side of the duvet, Sora corrected the thin air. Forgetting his sore muscles and bruised back, he sat straight up, alert and curious.  
It wasn’t as much of a clatter as it was of a few disgruntled human sounds such as a stifled curse and a hiss, the high-pitched rip of the ghostly white fabric in the moonlight, and an honest _thump._ Not enough to wake anyone else up, Sora thought, after midnight.  
Decidedly, Sora made to the floor again, crouching. He would not start, or yell. The dark was not quite dark yet, the very late sunset faded into a blue night, so he could make out the fuzzy figure entwined with a good length of the torn curtain, curled defensively. Sora stepped back gently, eyes going wider still, when a black gloved hand raked the wood bordering the uplift under the window, and angled shoulders shook, clad in leather, and all at once fluttered moon-shot hair and darker skin, dotted on the brow with a matted cut, still fresh with blood.  
Sora’s heart clenched, unsure, defiant. He could not speak, nor could he move.  
The figure turned, paled, and did the very same.  
Sora drew in a good look. The lines of his face were achingly familiar, collected but unable to hide a rawness behind the dull, gold eyes, somehow old and young at the same time. He knew this one. Not from the confines of a forgotten memory, or from the flip side of his heart, but from dreamscapes and blurred adventures, strangely marbled in his mind by now after a long, long sleep. Things that he pushed aside to start anew and recollect his thoughts for the oncoming storm.  
The man, or boy, stirred finally, weakly stumbling back, the torn, threaded white fabric slipping down his waist slightly. Small, Sora noted, and clumsy. This was not a Xehanort he was as familiar with as the others, towering, brusque figures, folds of darkness swept at their feet, larger-than-life and terrifying. Yes, this one was from before, as he remembered learning vaguely, not to be trusted, but...Sora was not afraid. At least, he didn’t think he was. He hummed and put his hands at his hips, stepping forward in a stately manner, sending the other further back into the wall.  
“Stop that.” He snapped breathily. Sora blinked.  
“Um, stop what? Also, this is my room, you know.”  
The other figure looked stunned for a second, then went a bit red, and went back to a forced expression of calm. He brushed the ripped curtains off of himself, stepped out of them and stood up only a few inches away, his chest curving out slightly, jaw tipping in a manner that suggested he was trying to show dominance, and credibility. Risen to his full height, Xehanort’s eyes flashed to meet Sora’s again.  
He was shorter than him, Sora noted to himself, but consciously tried shrinking down kindly, to give him that much of a boost.  
Xehanort appeared unhinged, compared to Sora’s last sighting of him, cool-spoken and slender and merciless, telling gut-wrenching truths and cryptic warnings. His stature and features were identical, but he was off-kilter at Sora’s window, already angrily bruised and bloodstained at his head from the apparent fall. Sora was reminded of a bird of paradise Kairi had rescued from a tree in Destiny Island in the distant past. As she was carrying it to the hut in her hands hurriedly, its feathers puffed softly between her fingers as it struggled to stay a proud animal with a battered and broken wing…  
Upon entry, Sora could already guess that Xehanort’s arrival was a--  
“--Mistake,” As if upon command, or if his own thoughts had been heard, Xehanort murmured the word to himself tiredly, barely a whisper as he turned his eyes away. So it wasn’t intentional, this detour of his. If it was a mistake, it most likely was not devout to the cause of his elder selves.  
Wait, think fast. He’s still here. “Um,” Sora started again politely.  
Xehanort uttered a long sigh, henceforth sticking out his hand in a stately manner and summoning a keyblade with winding dials and clock sigils and ridges, firmly issuing it into place by his side and crouching before moving in a blur. He blended perfectly into the shadows, all of a sudden--different than the first fight, no city lights to illuminate the fragmented shadows he would leave behind with each smooth movement, only breathless and dizzying and dark...No time to waste, either! Sora stepped back instinctively and geared up with his own blade, parrying and sliding into place again on the other side of the room. Surprisingly, Xehanort stood perfectly still for a moment, not bothering to let his feet slide so he could stalk across the room to regain a plan of action. His eyes locked with Sora’s, and Sora realized shakily that they had switched places with expert precision, and he hadn’t even noticed.  
A step forward, a simple leap. Xehanort’s body shimmered at the seams and split strangely in the air. Sora’s teeth clenched with the sudden impact as their blades met, crossing at the center, screaming and sparking, illuminating their faces for a moment. He could feel breath across his cheek.  
Metal against metal could pass for the wind battering against the stone keep, Sora reminded himself hastily. He wondered to himself why he was worried that the others would awaken and take advantage of Xehanort’s vulnerability.  
His ears popped. Xehanort was behind him. Lengthwise to his arm was a moment away from a shattered radius bone, and he ducked, parried, and they were both airborne. Time slowed down, either metaphorically or physically. Blinded and red-faced, Sora shot the key out as if it was an extension of his hand, forgetting where he was or who he was fighting all at once in the midst of the hopeful movement, feeling the handle heat as the tip shone with light, dust particles dancing in the glow--  
And in some miracle, he caught him by the throat on the blunt of the blade, and they came crashing down soundly, blankets slithering to the floor with both boys in tow. Sora kept his hold, and Xehanort barely made a sound, chest heaving, eyes wild.  
They both allowed themselves a moment to recollect their thoughts.  
“Well?” Xehanort interjected. “Is there more of where that came from?”  
“Why aren’t you--”  
“I am your enemy, after all. And I’ve turned up somewhere I’d rather not be, so I can’t call upon my defenses.” His voice. Listless, dry. “Your movement suggests that you have improved, by the way. Surely, by now, Sora, you know better than to hesitate over your greatest nemesis, lest I think of a plan of action faster than you can plunge that key of yours into my body and _end this--_ ”  
“No!” Sora said, and he did not shout. Rather, he held a hand over Xehanort’s mouth gently, ignoring the pointed annoyance of the other, who surprisingly did not struggle. “...Keep your voice down.” He added, sheepishly. “You aren’t...my greatest nemesis. Not yet. You’re not my friend. You can’t be. I guess I should feel lucky, for you to...come crashing out of the sky, you being what started this whole mess, technically speaking...I really could end it, right? Maybe Riku would do it, or even Lea and Kairi.  
But...it doesn’t feel right. Not to me.” He blinked, slowly lowering his blade from the other’s neck as he spoke. It felt odd. What he was doing and saying, jointly. And he slipped his legs away from the other, simply crouching on his knees neatly and letting the keyblade dissolve, the tool leaving a soft glow from where it once sat. “So I’m not doing it,” Sora finished decisively. He smiled.  
Xehanort was quiet. And then he wrenched Sora’s hand off his mouth (oops). Sora almost flinched, but he held himself back, as not to ruin the ambiance.  
“What,” Xehanort stated, voice grudgingly lowered, “Are you playing at.” He jutted his jaw forward slightly, irked. But he let the hand still clenched around his weapon slowly unfurl, and he, too, brought the keyblade back to its origins in a brief flicker.  
“Well, not much. I told you, I’m not going to kill you. It’s very late, I don’t want to wake my friends up.”  
“So wait until tomorrow.” The other replied, bored. Sora looked a little stricken at his former obvious misuse of words, and Xehanort glanced over his face and to Sora’s surprise, his facade broke. He laughed, and though he was exhausted, beaten down and still bleeding from his head, the sound was clear as a bell and high, cracking a little, not malicious in the slightest. And he wasn’t Master Xehanort, he was a seventeen year old on the floor of Sora’s bedroom tangled up in a sheet. His arms were thin, his cheeks were dusted softly with stubble that was hurriedly carved away. He could be anybody. He’s not different at all. It set an odd twist in Sora’s chest, somewhere deeper than Roxas or anyone else on the flip side, somewhere that he didn’t want to think about. I can’t help him, Sora thought, rather dazedly. I can’t even try.  
But he can do something about this right now, in the present moment, Sora reminded himself. The grand scheme of things does not play into the here and now.  
Sora smiled. Xehanort shifted back on his elbows. “If you aren’t going to get off of me, I’ll do something about it myself,” He told Sora, and teleported for the first time that night. Sora winced as it was followed with a muffled series of crashing noises. He glanced up--no one in sight, but only briefly, as the boy opened the closet door gingerly and stalked out, too tired to be humiliated any longer.  
Sora stood up attentively and threw the blankets across the bed again, scooting aside and fanning his hands out. “Ta-da,” He said. “You should lay down, right? You can’t use your powers as well if you’re hurt and confused.” Xehanort gave him a mild eyeroll, but sat at the side of the bed passively.  
“...Tomorrow, I will be on my way and fully recovered from...this.” He said in an undertone, picking at his gloves, finally sliding one off, putting it on the mantle. Sora saw that he had blisters on his otherwise smooth palm, and they had popped open. “Each moment that passes here brings you closer to an opportunity to strike, but I see that you are opposed. So...if...that is the case, I…”  
“Sleep,” Sora urged, taking it a step further. And Xehanort reclined, small against the thick comforters and pillows. Before Sora could say anything else, or be blown off or silenced, Xehanort fell silent, breath evening, eyes fluttering shut. His body sagged, weighed down with obvious, not-so-sudden fatigue. He looked at Xehanort again, laying down on his side, and he wanted something to justify how he felt, but nothing came to mind--his muscles still ached, from training, now from a spar with the man himself, his boy-self, someone who is not yet wholly and truly Sora’s chiaroscuro, the dark to his light.  
And he wasn’t scared at all. 

 

Xehanort remembered a rough, warm hand shifting aside his hair to gain access to a gash in his head, and feeling the pain gradually melt away, with a few murmured words of a cure, followed by half a snore. How stupid. Fleetingly, he thought about how long it had been since he had let himself sleep this soundly.  
It was just close to dawn, pink on the horizon, the sun peeking out of a few distant clouds.  
He grazed his fingertips across Sora’s brow, and took them away as quick as he could, as if the silent touch buzzed and burned.  
Never again would he make a mistake such as this, he thought.  
Never again would he look Sora in the eyes for a few fleeting moments of reconciliation.  
Never, ever.  
Sora yawned and awoke to find his room neat and a single black glove at the side of his bed.


End file.
